Savage Impulses
by T.R. Hunter
Summary: The seduction of Fenris is not what Hawke expected. Violent sex, very mature. You have been warned.
1. Chapter 1

Very very mature. If violent sex bothers you, there are thousands of nice Alistair romances on this site. If, on the other hand, you are intrigued by how two brutal men who kill daily might make love, please read on. Since it's a Fenris story, obviously there are DA2 spoilers.

Permission to touch. It was what I had waited years for, imagining my dark hand against that pale skin, caressing. But now that it was given, that consent, I found myself afraid. What if all my imaginings were wrong, foolish, overblown? Had I just wasted years on a fantasy?

I knew from the first moment I saw him in that dark alley, his fingers dripping crimson. I had felt a frisson that tingled from my mouth to my groin. I had no idea who he was, although I was soon to learn his status—both in the eyes of his hunters and in his own. A former slave, or a runaway slave, and an elf. I don't particularly like elves, not physically at least. They are too small, too thin. Those wide child like eyes so disconcerting in the bedroom, their strange noses and frail bodies. And in this case the lips were too full, too sensuous. No, it was not his appearance that appealed, I found him then, and still do, to be quite unlovely, but the attraction could not be denied.

I am a man who likes men, large men, those who can overtop my six foot plus with shoulders and chests broader then mine. Men with narrow hips sitting atop tree trunk thick thighs. Men who can dominate me after a struggle. Sex is the only time, it seems, that I can relinquish control, be the one taking orders, not giving them, for a few precious moments. But these last few years I had been denied even that fleeting pleasure.

He was easy to recruit, this fugitive slave, and I did not think much more of the moment when I had shivered on seeing him until I found that I was useless to anyone else. In those days I had many friends and many of them were lovers, but after seeing Fenris, I had no interest in more than a drink and a laugh.

For many years I'd visited Sven at the Blooming Rose. He was, physically and in many other ways, everything I liked in a man. Taller then me by a head, broad and chiseled, his dark hair and blue eyes striking, and wiling to do anything I could imagine for adequate coin. I had even asked him out for a drink one time, only to be told gently that he had been in a relationship for years. I was startled by the revelation, but could think nothing except that his partner was a very lucky man.

When I found my libido had fled, it was Sven that I naturally turned to. He had never failed to arouse me, even when I found myself exhausted or morose, but this time, nothing. We started as usual, carefully laying aside our clothes and wrestling until he had me pinned or in some way incapacitated and in his power, in this case astride me, firmly holding my hands above my head. I enjoyed the exercise, but this time, unlike all the others, that was all it was to me, there was no rising desire, no desire at all. I hung as limp as a flag on a still day.

Sven had looked at me quizzically and when he started to release the pressure on my hands I nodded. It was then that he turned from my gigolo to my confidant. In all those years, it was only Sven that I spoke to, only Sven that knew of my problem. For the others, I kept up a good front, playing them against each other so that each thought I was bedding another. It was tiring, but I couldn't admit to them, and usually not to myself, that I was celibate, impotent, mooning for a hopeless love.

I visited Sven weekly, which was good for my reputation, but all we did was talk. I tried to explain and found him a great listener. Occasionally he would offer a thought or suggestion, but he understood that what I needed most was someone to talk to and in the talking, to work it out for myself.

I had, of course, approached Fenris. He had not turned me down, had shown no aversion to being approached by another man, but had offered nothing either. He had simply remained neutral, showing no interest in man or woman, or, as far as I could tell, dog or sheep for that matter. This being who was the most sexual of creatures in my eyes seemed to have no sexuality of his own, until tonight.

I wasn't sure what had triggered this willingness. We had been sitting, talking and not talking, drinking, like so many nights before, but tonight the invitation came, the invitation to touch.

At first I thought that I had not heard correctly, but he repeated almost word for word. "For years I have watched you. For years you've wanted to touch me. Wondered what it would be like. I appreciate that you gave me that time, it has not been easy adjusting to freedom, so tonight, if you are willing, your patience will be rewarded."

There is was. No coyness, no doubt, no hesitation, just a blatant invitation to indulge my desires. And here I sat. And sat. I'd raised my hand once, then let it drop back. We had perfect privacy, sitting in the large dining hall of the mansion he'd never bothered to restore. I had been given the permission I had so longed for, and yet I found I could not move.

And one point he had placed his hand over mine in encouragement, not restraint, and I was startled at how soft it was. This was a man who wielded the largest two handed broadsword I had ever seen in use, and did so almost daily, but his hands were as soft as a child's except for the seams of lyrium that ran along the palm and up each finger. I mused that it must be the this lyrium that saved them from the callouses that roughened my own and those of every lover I had ever had. Even Sven, despite his soft profession, excised regularly to maintain his physique and his hands showed the effect.

Finally I found the courage to touch that white hair that so intrigued me. It was feather light, flowing between my fingers like down. Taking strength from this move, however tentative, I allowed my hand to brush his cheek, his eyes, across that strange nose. As in my dreams, the contrast between his white skin and my dark hand was stimulating. For the first time in these many years I felt a stirring of desire and I almost fainted with relief. I was very afraid that I had become a eunuch in practice if not in body, and to know that I could feel, have stirrings, was a great reassurance.

He smiled at my expression, his face gentle but his amusement obvious. With startling insight he said, "So, I had unmanned you. I didn't realize that it extended so far. I am sorry for that."

I wanted to be offended, to deny the allegation, but it was no less than the truth. That night in that alley I had been unmanned by this dark elf, but perhaps that was about to change.

I allowed by thumb to wander down from his unmarked face to his chin where the first lyrium burns crept up as if seeking to consume him wholly. As I touched the raised welt gently he shuddered and pulled away, then dropped his head saying, "And I am sorry for that too. It is the memories. For so long no one has dared that move, but Denarius used to stroke me in such a way when he was thinking. I was, of course, nothing but a useful pet to him. I shouldn't react so to you. Please forgive me, pretend, if you will, that it never happened."

Strangely this reaction, negative though it was, emboldened me. That he felt something at my touch, anything, was so much better than his passive acceptance. I stood and walked deliberately around the table holding my hands out to him. As he rose, I placed my hands on each side of his neck, holding him at arms' length. He looked up at me, staring into my eyes, and asked, "Tell me, you are a man who likes strong men, yes? I've seen your lovers or those who would be. I know of your visits to Sven." I narrowed my eyes at the evidence of his spying, then realized that I had been doing the same, watching him closely to see who he spent time with, who he seemed to like, if anyone.

Taking his challenge, I replied honestly. "Yes, I like large strong men, not lanky elves, or I did until I saw you. I can't say that there is anything in your appearance that appeals to me and yet I find myself… smitten." The word seemed weak for what I was feeling, but I had no other that did not seem overly dramatic.

He laughed at this candor, not at all offended, and answered, "But perhaps it is that you saw in me a strength beyond that of your muscle bound comrades? You've seen me fight, you know what I've been through, or at least you know of it. Do you think I would submit to you?" He watched my face carefully, then continued, "Ah, but that's not what you want, is it? You think at times that perhaps you would be happy had you been born a slave rather than fated to lead men?" Again that uncanny perception and again my face betrayed me. He laughed, a dark and bitter laugh, and said, "It is strange, but I find that I may be willing to play this role for you. It is a measure of the hold that you have over me that I would consider such a thing."

I blinked at this, surprised. That I had a hold over him was something that I had not considered, in truth had not thought possible. But then he had been observing me, knew my preferences, cared.

I allowed my hand to wander down to the silver button that held his tunic. He stood passive as I released it from its loop, then the next and the next. One of the questions that had kept me awake many nights was how extensive those lyrium burns were. Over all the years, despite the hours and days together in the wilderness, I had never seen more than his face and arms. Now I saw that the intricate pattern extended down his chest, growing more complex the lower I went. The shirt was now totally open and I could see how the scrolling wrapped carefully around each small hard nipple and wound down to disappear below his belt. I followed the pattern with my finger and then my tongue, pleased to hear him groan. Whether in pleasure or pain didn't really matter to me, the reaction was what I craved.

As I licked, I fumbled with his belt and then the laces to each side of his britches, finally releasing them. As my hand explored, he moaned, this time clearly in pleasure. I pulled back and dropped to my knees, anxious to see what treasure I had uncovered. When I did, I gasped. They had not stopped with the torment even on his most sensitive parts. Why his face had been spared I could not imagine as I stared in disbelief at the branch like tendrils running up his cock and making a net for his balls. I was stunned. I could not imagine the agony of even one sliver, let alone this extensive network. I didn't know what to say or do, my plans out the window.

Fenris pulled me up roughly, snarling, "Yes, it was worse than you can envision. Now perhaps you understand a little, but only a little. But first you get what you think you want. Certainly not my tiny elf dick."

Actually he wasn't so small for an elf, or for anyone of his stature, but yes, compared to what I was used to I would hardly notice him. He sneered when he saw this truth in my eyes and without warning rent my jerkin from neck to waist. It was soft doeskin and a garment I was fond of—I had worn it especially to please him—so I felt a moment of anger. As my brows lowered and my eyes narrowed I felt myself picked up off my feet by a single hand on my neck. I am not light, 16 stone on a good day, but I was dangling, my toes barely touching, and it seemed that he could hold me there as long as he willed, there was no weakness nor trembling in that iron arm. If it didn't let go soon though, he would be holding my corpse since I was rapidly running out of air.

Rather than drop me, he lowered me gently down, only to slam me against the wall. He reached around and I felt the laces on my own britches give, severed by those lethal fingers. As I sprang into this hand he laughed, smirking. "Proud human." He squeezed and I screamed. "I could rip it out by the root, you know?" He had let off the pressure so that it only throbbed and I nodded. Oh yes, I believed absolutely that he could do just as he said, and made a small prayer that he would not decide to do so.

As I recovered my breath, he'd pulled the pants down and wrapped his other arm from the crack of my buttocks through my legs to cradle my balls. He held them gently for now, but the threat was there. Oh Maker, what had I gotten myself into?

"Would you fight me now?" he asked. "Do anything I desired?"

I all but shouted, "No! Yes!" desperate to be heard and understood. I had never felt more vulnerable or more helpless, and while it was true that he had stoked my lust, I also felt a very real fear.

I was sure that he could hear fright in my voice and he laughed, that harsh sound that had filled so many of my dreams. He released my delicate parts, but faster than thought had a hand at my neck. "You've watched me, and I've watched you watching me, when I reach into a body and take a heart. You find it erotic and that disturbs you." It was true, every word. "But I have control," he continued, "control of what I penetrate and how."

With that I felt his fingers exploring my nether hole. I was no virgin despite lack of use lately and he soon had three fingers deep within me. I could not believe how much I had missed that sensation in all those years of denial. I let my eyes close and head drop at the pleasure, then was snapped to attention as the fingers became a fist and the fist thrust deep and hard. For the second time that evening I screamed, the call made up of equal parts lust and pain.

Fenris mouth was at my ear as he said, "You would never be happy with less, would you. Not with my modest elven self. This is what you would have of me and what only I can give you." As the word trailed off he thrust again and I moaned calling for him to stop, to continue, to give me what I needed but feared.

It did not take much time, it had been too long. I came in copious gushes, feeling that all of my insides were being pumped out of me, that I was being drained like some fetid swamp. I was gasping, leaning against the wall, unable to think or move… and I found myself unbearably grateful. I had been made a man again, and if this was what was required it was, well, it was perfect. I would like to have been able to tell myself that it was too brutal, too violent even for me… but it was perfect.

"My turn now," was whispered in my ear as I felt my hair grabbed and was slammed back to fall hard to the floor. As my head bounced, Fenris stepped delicately over me, falling into a soft upholstered chair my the fire. "Come here," he said, and I willingly complied.

"I know it is hardly worthy of your notice," he said, indicating his erect cock, "but I would have it attended to."

Feeling brave, or possibly foolish, I asked, "How?"

He snorted. "I think we have had enough of the exotic for tonight, the traditional should be sufficient. I expect that you are talented with your mouth and hands. Show me."

That is exactly what I did, and he used every bit of my skill until finally he could withhold from me no more and I felt the thick salty libation that I craved surge down my throat.

We sat for hours, my head in his lap, his hand idly stroking my hair, not a word between us. Then he nudged me with his knees, saying quietly, "Get up. Dress yourself." I was puzzled, but not alarmed. He found a new lacing for my britches and my belt held the ruined tunic well enough. It was not until he placed his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eye, that I felt afraid.

"It is too much," he began. "I thought that the time had come that I could be free, but it seems it is not yet. I am sorry, but this will not happen again. Go, please, as a kindness to me."

He turned and left the room as I stood too shocked to move. Had everything come to this one night? Was this to be all? Would I again become a monk, waiting for the slightest hint of favor?

There was nothing for it. I made my way out into the dark streets hoping for something to kill—anything would do—a bandit, a stray dog, even a rat, but for once found my way home without opposition.

That night, alone in my bed, I wept for the first time since I was a young boy.


	2. Chapter 2

That night haunted me. I couldn't sleep, I lost weight, I became more savage in battle and stopped being concerned with the morality of the jobs I accepted. No one objected except Varric and Anders, and Varric's objections were of a business nature—he was afraid that I would hurt our reputation and that the more ethical and better paying clients would shy away. It didn't matter to me, killing was now the only release I got and I needed more, whatever form it took.

Many of the motley group I had assembled over the years did question why Fenris was still with us if he caused me such distress. I had given up on the ruse that I was as sexually active as ever—I simply no longer had the energy. They could think what they would. I was obsessed and I knew it, but there seemed no cure.

He wore tokens of mine, had asked for them, but that was our only connection other than the work, the killing. There were times when I wanted to tear them from him, that simple scarlet band and the small copy of the Amell escutcheon he wore on his belt. There were times when I wanted to assemble my largest friends to hold him down while I took him. Yes, I was that driven that I considered even rape, knowing that it was despicable and that there would be no satisfaction there.

The frustration was tearing at me. My weekly visits to Sven had become double sessions. I think he preferred his normal more physical activities to my whining, but he was patient and I tipped heavily. I had developed another unexpected confident in Anders. He and I had been lovers briefly when we first met, but my brutality disturbed him and his tenderness left me cold. Despite, or possibly because of, our differences we had become fast friends. Now he was another ear to hear my laments, another shoulder to lean on.

We talked, Fenris and I. He had not refused me access to his home, although he flatly refused to come to my estate, even for formal dinners with many attendees. He talked. I yelled, screamed, begged, threw things, threatened violence, as he watched calmly and when I was worn out, I talked too. I would like to tell you that those talks were intimate and satisfying at least, but that was not the case. Although they were often personal, there was a coldly clinical quality to our discussions. He told me what little he could remember and, wanting more an excuse to be there, to see him even if forbidden touch, I told him everything of my past, in greater detail than I thought I remembered.

He was a good listener in that he paid attention always and would ask probing questions, but nothing I said appeared to move him. I spoke of the death of my father, who was, of course, a mage. In this I could understand his coldness. That he hated all mages, albeit with reason, was something I had long needed to accept if I were to be around him at all. The death of my sister, also a mage, well in that too I could accept his mildly sympathetic indifference, but when my mother was killed, when he was there with me and saw what she had become, I could no longer forgive him him apathy.

That night I followed him home, quite literally, stalking behind him, refusing to walk with him, but also refusing to let him out of my sight. When we had been there, in that warehouse, and I had laid my mother down for the last time, closing her eyes with my finger tips, it was Fenris I had gone to. I only wanted to lean on his shoulder for a moment, to feel some warmth, some touch, but he had brushed me aside, stepping back out of reach. I might have struck him then, possibly getting myself killed, except for the intervention of Anders. He could have stopped me in time with magic, but instead he simply stepped in front of Fenris and held up his hand. If it had been anyone else I would have knocked them aside, but I couldn't bring myself to hit the gentle Anders, and it brought me at least partially to my senses.

Anders then tried to speak softly to me, placed his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged him off much as Fenris had done to me and answered only in inarticulate growls. The anger, at least, has assuaged some of the grief.

The rest of the party had the good sense to stay silent and out of my way. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be done. I would see that they got paid and I pulled Varric aside to give him the funds for the round I usually bought at the end of a job. I had no plans except to keep Fenris in sight. I would follow him that night, all night if necessary. I didn't know what I wanted of him now, or I knew all too well, but had little hope of it. All I could think of was to watch him, to see what he did, to know where he was. If he barred his door to me, I would break it down, if he hid, I would find him. It was not rational and some small part of my mind realized this, but I was under a compulsion as strong as that of any demon.

When we reached his manor, Fenris coolly worked the key and entered, leaving the door open behind him. Not once during our trek through the dark streets had he turned, but he knew I was there. I carefully closed the door, using the key he had left in the lock to assure privacy, and then, with a dark thought, I pocketed it.

He already had the wine open and poured when I entered his study, the room where he spent almost all his free time. It was one of the dark Antivan reds he favored these days and it shown like a blood ruby in the firelight. He was sitting with his back to the door, which was brave, foolish or indifferent. I couldn't be sure which, but I would have bet on the later. If I wanted to kill him, it was as good an opportunity as I was ever likely to see, but that would have been too easy for him and unsatisfying for me.

I stood behind him for many minutes, hoping to unnerve him, which was idiotic. Of all the warriors I had known, Fenris was the least likely to lose his nerve and certainly no threat from me would frighten him.

Sighing, I walked to a chair and the waiting glass of wine. Throwing my body down and throwing the alcohol down my throat I asked, "Why?"

The corners of his mouth raised. It could not properly be called a smile, but it was a very typical expression for him. He said in his sardonic voice, "You will need to be more specific, Hawke, if you want an answer."

I tightened my grip on the crystal goblet and it bent, then shattered. I continued to tense my hand around the shards until the blood flowed. The pain and the waste helped. Without a word, Fenris rose and retrieved another glass along with two more bottles. So, he was expecting a long night and he was probably right. Keeping me well oiled, dead drunk if possible, was also no doubt a good idea. He offered me nothing for my hand. I held it in front of my face, picking splinters of glass from the palm and fingers and dripping blood on his table. When I had gotten most of them, I wrapped it in my own handkerchief and clutched tightly to stem the flow.

He had poured another glass and set it in front of me. I still gulped, but a bit more slowly, and when the glass was empty he promptly refilled it. I suspected that he would continue to do so until I passed out or he ran out of wine, so this time I took a modest sip and sat the goblet down, pushing it a little ways away to remove the temptation.

The single word question had been hard enough to ask, but I closed my eyes, consciously controlling my breathing, and said, "Why of all times, why then, couldn't you have held me, touched me, let me touch you, for just a moment? It would have meant everything to me."

He stared at me with those large eyes, so wrong for his face, and said, "You know." I considered breaking another wine glass, but tightened my wounded fist until I groaned instead. Apparently this time my look was enough, because he continued. "I couldn't because I care too much, not because I care to little." He rose and started pacing, slapping furniture has he passed and occasionally pausing to pound the wall softly.

"If I were to give in that small bit, especially on a day like today, I would be lost." He walked back to the table and slammed both fists down, leaning on his arms and glaring at me. "You think this is easy for me, all of this? You think you are the only one who suffers? Bah! Self centered childish human!" He turned and began pacing again. It was the first time since our evening together (oh that it had been a whole night!) that he had shown emotion and I felt a great weight lift. It was irrational, he certainly wasn't offering me anything, but at least I knew that he cared and after such a drought it was enough, almost.

I stood now too, walking to him and placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him, to turn him towards me. He took that hand and easily threw me into the wall. A red veil came down before my eyes, composed equally of lust and anger. I felt that if I couldn't have him now I would simply tear myself apart, acquire his trick through sheer will and rip out my own heart there before him. Dying had great appeal in that moment, living much less so.

As I was gathering myself for a lunge, he said, "Hawke, stop!" I will never know what it was in his voice, but I did stop and crumpled to the floor, spent and hopeless. He walked around me and sat back down, taking up his half full wine glass and holding it to the light.

"This is foolishness," he said quietly. "Why do you persist? Why do you plague me? Why not just go on with you life? I see them every day looking at you, men who would have you gladly. Large men, handsome men, intelligent men. Why pursue me?"

I crawled to my feet so that I could bang my head against the wall. Why indeed? There was no logic to it, nothing that my mind could justify. I was miserable and apparently I was making him miserable as well. I walked to where he could see me and held my palms out, the one still seeping blood. "Love?" I asked. It was a question, I meant it as such. If this was love, then I knew why poets were so depressed.

He laughed, saying, "You don't know what the word means, and neither do I. Perhaps. Perhaps that explains this madness; nothing else seems to certainly. Go Hawke. Go home, mourn your mother and try to forget. If you want me to leave, I will. Isabella has been nagging me for months about why I stay and Anders gives me dark looks when he thinks I'm not watching. Even Varric has become twitchy around me."

I felt as if that heart that I been eager to excise a few minutes before would drop out on its own and my breath caught, choking me. When I could speak, I begged, "No. Don't go, no, never… I can't… I won't… oh please, no, not that."

He waved a hand casually, "Very well. I stay with the group. But you, now, you go. Go home, sleep. Nothing has changed."

That was my greatest fear and my greatest consolation. Nothing had changed. He would be there in the morning, untouchable, almost unmovable. It was not enough, but it was all that I had.

[I apologize for the lack of sex in this chapter. I like to write it more than you like to read it, but such are the ways of our broody elf. The tales will continue, and continue to heat up, please be assured.]


	3. Chapter 3

So, he had a sister… maybe. News imparted by a Tevinter magister begging for her life was hardly of the most reliable variety, but her dying conversation had sparked something in Fenris.

I was down to one ne'er-do-well uncle who I considered taking a personal contract out on almost daily, and now _Fenris_ had a sibling. It was hard to think of him as ever having had family, of being a child with a mother and father. He was more a force of nature, but if it softened him just that tiny bit…

Of course I suspected a trap. Having her show up in Kirkwall, and at our base of operations, the venerable Hanged Man, was a bit much to swallow. It could be that she just wanted to see her lost brother that badly, but the information had come from Danarius' protégé—it had to be a trap.

It was easy to set our own ambush is such familiar territory and now all was in place. I had hired extra help, a few mages to Fenris disgust, but we were going up against one of the best of the Imperium, it seemed having a little magic to even the score would not be out of place. The regulars who could fight were put on the payroll, the rest discretely chased away for the afternoon. I'd paid dearly to rent the place and a hefty deposit against almost certain breakage. The tavern's staff were used to various brawls and knew when to duck and where to hide.

The traps were set, the personnel in place, and still he hoped it would be only the long lost sister. As much as he had made me suffer, it hurt to see the hope in his eyes.

The plan was that we would appear to be alone, Fenris and I, while the others would be in position in case (or when, in my opinion) the trouble started. When we entered the tavern, she was easy to spot, a homely elf girl sitting by herself, as out of place as a nug in the Chantry. I hung back as Fenris went up to talk with her. It wasn't long before the fireworks started.

I hated fights in the tavern, it was as much my home as the estate, maybe more so, but this one was not to be avoided. I was glad that I had my crew with me and that they were experienced in the ways of dark magic. They would not be fazed by whatever demons the Tevinter could pull from the Fade, and pull them he did.

Fenris fought like a machine, as he always did. Danarius, whatever else could be said against him, did know what he was doing when he created this weapon… except for that small issue of control. In this fight, I was very glad that the elf was on my side.

The hired mages earned their fee, the rest performed as I knew they would, and Danarius lay under Fenris' heel where he had so long wanted him. I wasn't sure what I expected, but the quick death he granted the magister surprised me. Perhaps now that the end was literally in his hand he couldn't resist. The sister, on the other hand, was another matter.

It was hard to see her beg, but she had betrayed him in the worst possible way. When the time came, he looked to me. I could have given him his sibling then, I suppose, although Maker knows if she would have ever been what he was looking for, but both my professional instinct and my very human jealously argued against it. "End it," I said in reply to his inquiring look, and he did. If I could just eliminate my troublesome uncle we would now both be without family.

I knew that it was the right thing to do for reasons beyond my own aching needs, but still guilt clung to me as we righted chairs and tables and sat down to serious drinking. I paid off the mages with extra coin and the suggestion that they leave—Anders and Merrill aggravated Fenris enough, I didn't think tonight an extra reminder of the role magic had played in his salvation would help. Anders, sensitive as always, corralled Merrill and the two quietly went upstairs to Varric's room, presumably to discuss mage matters.

Fenris was ebullient, the loss of a sister he couldn't remember nothing to him in comparison to being free of Danarius. For the first time in years, possibly in his life, he was a free elf. For me, I was tired, worn down by it all. I couldn't believe that things would actually change, it had been too many years.

We drank late into the night, then stumbled home, Fenris singing naughty Tevinter ditties. It even embarrassed Isabella, which I thought impossible. I saw him home. The deadly Fenris was in no shape to fight off even the most incompetent of cutthroats. When we reached his door and he was safely inside I turned to go, but was caught by the arm. He pulled me in, slamming the door with his foot. As he draped his arms around my neck, I said, "Fenris, you're drunk. If you do this now, you'll only regret it in the morning, and I would not be your regret."

He laughed merrily, then stepped back. In an instant he was sober, as dour as ever. "I thought you better than that, Hawke," he purred. "You downed three for every one of mine. My act made them happy. And made you happy. And I would do what I can to share the happiness that tonight has brought me."

I eyed him warily and a bit blearily. It was hard to keep track of all the mugs on the table, of all those that had been filled again and those that had not, but there was no doubt that he was more sober than me.

"So, you could have let me know that back when we passed my door," I said, a note of anger there no doubt. "Why drag me all the way up here? Or is it just to watch me creep away again, my tail between my legs?"

He looked up at me, his eyes narrowed. "Don't go pitiful on me, Hawke," he sneered, "or I may change my mind and send you back down that hill."

I was more drunk that I wished to admit and I had had enough. "Or keep me here, torment me, then send me down the hill?" I shot back.

To my utter astonishment, he grabbed my arm and pulled me close, pressing his lips to mine. I was still wary of a trick, too desolate to hope, and kept my mouth tightly sealed.

He pulled back and turned from me in disgust, saying over his shoulder, "You never understood, did you? I have loved you all these years," his hand indicated the red band and Amell crest, "but I would not offer you a slave. Until Danarius perished, I was his property. Tonight, for the first time since we have met, I am a free man, a man free to give his affections."

I shook my head, wiling my eyes to focus, my brain to connect. Was I really hearing this? And if so, was I truly the subject of these long held affections? In my distracted and besotted state I imagined him telling me now that there was another lover he was free to join, but thanks for all the years of devotion.

He looked at me, his head tipped to the side, then with a whispered, "Maker damn them all!" he was on me. That kiss I shall never forget. What followed was more passionate, but nothing in my life was sweeter than to feel those lips on mine, that mouth open in utter acceptance.

Clothes were shed, left where they dropped, and soon we were standing with our bellies pressed together, cocks squeezed between us, hands and tongues exploring. Strangely after so long waiting, we both seemed in no hurry. Perhaps it was the day, the fight, the drinking, but there was a delicious languid pace to our touches, as if we both realized that we now had all the time in the world to discover each other.

I was exploring his pointed ear with my tongue, my eyes closed, in utter bliss when I heard the laugh, not his, and too close. I jerked back and spun around, landing in a crouch desperately looking for my sword.

Stepping from the shadows was… Danarius, yet not Danarius. The same face, but older, a bit heavier, the hair touched with grey. Fenris was quicker than I. I saw his brands start to pulse as he prepared to spring when the figure before me held up a hand, saying softly, "Stand down or the pretty one gets a bolt though the chest."

A dozen or more crossbowmen stepped from the shadows of the other rooms, followed by at least the same number of swordsmen. How had we not heard them earlier? Fenris had subsided, but was still on guard as he snarled, "Danarius. I should have known I was not free of you. The fight was too easy, the setup too obvious."

The magister spoke in soothing, melodious tones as he mocked, "It was not for your intellect that I chose you, Fenris, and it seems that your companion is well matched to your limited capacity."

Ignoring the jibe and still looking for my sword out of the corner of my eye, I said, "So that wasn't you back in the Hanged Man? Some substitute, I presume?"

He looked at Fenris as he sneered, "Does he always ask the obvious like that? So tiresome. How do you stand it, my pet?" Turning to me, he said, "A Kirkwall apostate. They are desperate, you realize, and dull from being locked in your prison. You really should treat them better. It was a simple enough enchantment, giving him my face and voice. And as I suspected, poor Fenris was easily fooled. So sad.

"But enough chatter. It seems that I came for one slave and leave with two. The little romance was charming, by the way, I may have you replay it for my guests. Fenris, you know the position. Demonstrate, please, for our neophyte?"

Fenris' eyes were burning and I could see him shaking as he tried to control the brands, to keep them from firing. He was grinding his teeth as he snarled, "I am not your slave, Danarius. Never again."

Shrugging, the mage said, "How unfortunate then for this one." He moved a finger and a bolt of lightening shot towards me, searing a furrow across my chest. The room filled with the smell of cooked meat and despite myself I screamed in agony. Through the pain, I heard him say, "Yes, much better. You do remember."

As my vision cleared, I looked to Fenris who was standing very straight, his feet wide apart and his arms crossed behind his back. Danarius waved a hand and a silver coil wrapped itself around the elf, binding arms and legs with a length between them and a loop around his neck. I gaped at him, my mouth hanging open, then turned to Danarius. I couldn't believe what was happening. Were it not for the burn across my chest, I would have thought myself drunk and hallucinating. Until this moment my head had been filled with plans for escape, but as I looked at the armed men around us, I realized how foolish that was. There was no escape. Fenris would again be a slave, and I would join him.

Seemingly bored, Danarius said, "You see the position. If you would? It makes things so much easier and less messy. You will end up bound, so you might as well save yourself some pain. And, really, I've gone to enough trouble for you two. Any more and I may get testy."

Fenris wouldn't look at me; he stared determinedly at the corner on the room, his expression neutral. Sighing with possibly my last free breath, I imitated his position. The silver coil descended and I was surprised to find that it cold as it snaked across my naked body. The bindings were thorough and tight, with many wraps around my arms as well as hands. Listlessly I tested them, finding them as secure as I feared.

Fenris spoke, still looking at his corner. "You might as well kill me now, Danarius," he said. "I will not serve you, not even to save Hawke. Bind me, yes, but you will never again make me a slave."

I was watching the magister closely and shuddered when I saw a smile climb up his lips. "Oh, but you will, pet," he confidently replied. "My time in Kirkwall has not been wasted. It seems that your Templars are almost as desperate as your mages and easier to bribe. A little gold here, a few threats there and they were only too willing to show me the secret of a little rite they've been indulging in lately."

At this Fenris turned and started to take a step. Before his foot could land, his head was jerked back and he fell hard to his knees. The coil had come alive, pulling his feet from under him. I, on the other hand, had frozen, hoping that it was a bluff or a misunderstanding. Surely the Templars had not let the rite of Tranquility be compromised, allowed it to slip into the hands of a Tevinter magister of all people?

"You lie!" Fenris screamed.

Danarius laughed softly, an evil sound. "Oh no. I have no reason. Soon enough you will know, and then you will be as I always wanted you, unable to resist any command. I am glad that I found you here together, it has sparked ideas for all sorts of entertainments. You know, Fenris, how boring those obligatory dinners can be. And when I tire of you, I may have you kill each other. It would be artful to see if I could make it mutual, but then there is a certain lovely poignancy to leaving one of your alive too, not that you will care. It is simply a whim.

"But I waste time and the tide waits not even for me. Come." He turned and glided out. Fenris was permitted to regain his feet and we were herded out as well.

It was that quiet time just before morning proper. The streets were bare, the light of dawn barely breaking over the tall buildings. One of the thugs had thrown cloaks over us to cover our nakedness, but our feet were left bare and despite the desperation of my situation, I was intrigued by the cool marble against my soles. I couldn't help but think that this was a way that Fenris experienced his world that I never had. I realized that I was trying to distract myself when I heard the whippoorwill.

Before even the magical rope could react I'd thrown myself sideways at Fenris, knocking him to the ground as a ball of fire sped towards Danarius. The mage easily pushed it away, but several of his henchmen were not so lucky. Their screams were joined by battle cries and shouted orders.

Fortunately, the bindings had not tightened. Perhaps they required Danarius' attention, and he was busy at the moment. Still, it was difficult to move far without rubbing off some delicate bit against the pavement. We both managed to squirm behind a pillar where we had some protection as we watched the fight.

Fire, bolts, arrows were coming not only from the street, but from the balconies of buildings each side. Varric, it could only be Varric. But how had he known? I hadn't suspected, Fenris hadn't suspected… but then that was what Varric did, suspect and confirm and when confirmation was not at hand, take action anyway.

Electricity was now sizzling over the square and we ducked lower, hugging the ground. Before Danarius' men could recover, arrows rained down and I was glad we had the pillar between us and the action. It would be too sad if we were killed during our own rescue.

The fight was fairly one sided and short. Despite their numbers, Danarius' hired muscle were neither experienced nor smart, and my team was both. The bowmen never got off a volley, only isolated shots where and there, and the swords were hemmed in my the fire power, helpless. Almost to a man they were cut down where they stood, their bodies falling atop one another.

Danarius, however, was another matter. Seeing him now I could appreciate the strength of the Tevinter Imperium. He was facing Anders and Merrill, plus the two I had hired earlier—somehow Varric had retrieved them—plus crossbows and longbows, but seemed to be unconcerned, and my side was taking causalities. I'd seen Isabella go down earlier, part of her hair seared away. She now lay very still not far from us. I prayed that she would be all right, and also that Anders' talents extended to regrowing hair or I might need to go into hiding for a fortnight or two. I could see bodies of some of the hired men as well, and wondered if I would be making condolence calls to their families—if any of us lived through this, that is.

It was Merrill who turned the tables, as much by distracting the magister as anything. Impulsive as ever, she ran towards him and sliced her arm, releasing her blood magic. Common in the Imperium as this practice was, it was apparently not something Danarius expected to see in Kirkwall. He hesitated for an instance and that was enough for Anders. The Tevinter mage was thrown back and it was a commonplace marble plinth that ended it. His head hit with a resounding crack and he went limp.

As Anders stepped forward, Fenris growled to him, "Leave nothing. He must be utterly destroyed or he will find a way back."

The tall blond mage looked cooly at the elf, his mouth turning up sardonically, and proceeded to do what Fenris could never accomplish. He was beautiful there in the soft dawn, the lone mage, as he held out that hand that could heal and dealt not only death, but oblivion. Danarius body started to smoke, a small tendril rising from the area near his navel. Despite the head injury, the pain woke him, but it was too late. There was a flash of light so bright it left after images in my eyes, and the sound of an explosion. When I could see again, there was only a burned patch and a bit of melted marble where the Tevinter had lain. I heard a great sigh behind me as Fenris realized that this time his nightmare was truly ended.

Anders drifted over to us and looked down, his head to the side, his expression one of considered amusement. At that moment I would have given half my wealth for the ability to cover myself, but the cloaks were several feet away and without the use of my hands I was helpless. Fenris was sheltering behind me, the coward.

"You're looking well, Hawke," he said, and if my hands had been free I would have hit him… hard. Varric came ambling up, looked around the pillar and broke out laughing. Of course it was infectious, and Anders joined in.

I could hear others wondering what was so funny and I snarled at the mage in my most threatening tone, "If you can release us do. If not, at least have the decency to through those cloaks over us, damn it!"

He waved a hand and the silver rope slithered to the ground, however my hands and arms were so numb that they were useless. It was Varric who was kind enough to grab up the cloaks and throw them over us as Merrill and the hired mages rounded our pillar.

Snuggling within my blessed cover, I looked up at Varric and said, "Your work, I assume?"

He preened, then tried for an expression of humility, which did not work. "Of course," he replied, you don't think Blondie planned all this, did you?" Anders gave him a wounded look as he continued to explain—once Varric was asked to talk, it usually took a while to get back to blessed silence.

"Actually, it was Anders who gave me some of the clues." To my surprise, he turned to the mage.

"I've studied the various schools of magic, including what I could find of the Imperium," the tall blond explained. "They have some very specific and very powerful techniques, as you saw tonight. None of these were employed in the Hanged Man. A magister would not allow himself to be defeated so easily. In some cases, the casting was clumsy and there were, it is hard to describe, but hints of the Circle about our adversary."

I looked up at him and demanded, "You did not think to mention any of this to me?"

He shook his head, saying, "I really didn't think of it until Varric suggested that we follow you. Everyone was so happy that the fight was over and Fenris free, then with the celebration afterwards, it just didn't come to my conscious attention."

"So, you've been here all night?" I asked the dwarf.

He shrugged and said, "I had nowhere else to go."

"And if nothing had happened, if we'd simply stayed in the mansion, what would you have done?" I was honestly curious how long he would have waited.

He smiled that wide dwarven smile and replied, "I would have left Blondie here on watch, with a carrier pigeon. He would have enjoyed fantasying about what was going on behind those stout doors more than any of the rest of us."

It was as close as I've ever seen Anders to hitting someone not in the course of battle. There was pain behind his anger and I was sorry to see it. Was I doomed to always hurt those I cared for? I mentally grabbed ahold of myself before I went further down that path—I blamed myself for the death of my mother and siblings and the raw spot that guilt left was still tender.

The feeling was coming back to my limbs and, careful to keep the cloak about me, I rose to my feet, hugging and thanking my rescuers. I asked Anders about Isabella and the others and he assured me they would all be fine in time.

Varric called out, "Come on, everyone home, there are still fireworks to be made, but we're not invited, I suspect."

The look Fenris shot him was positively venomous and I instinctively held out a restraining hand. He laughed bitterly as he took the hand in his. "I am not so far gone that I would attack our savior," he said. "At least not as within the next three minutes. After that, I will not be responsible."

Varric could take a cue as well as the finest of actors. He bowed gallantly and herded his charges away, but as they left he couldn't resist looking over his shoulder and giving Fenris a broad wink.


	4. Chapter 4

I threw my arm around Fenris and we made our way through the still open door. I slammed it closed and pushed a large sideboard in front of the damnable portal, to Fenris' chuckles. I didn't want to be disturbed for at least Varric's few days, and if I could figure a way to get food in, weeks sounded better.

I was staggering with fatigue and the tail end of all that I had drank. It had been long enough that the hangover was starting to pulse behind my eyes. I made my way to the study and collapsed in a chair by the table, supporting my poor head in my hands.

"You will stay," he said. I wasn't sure from his flat delivery if it was a question or a statement.

"You could move into the estate," I countered.

He shook his head, so I asked, "Why not? There is more than enough room and the floors are tiled, the curtains intact." It was half tease, but with an underlying truth. The mansion had been all but a ruin when he moved in, and, except for this comfortable study and, I presumed, a bedroom somewhere that I had never seen, it remained a wreck slowly decaying. Even the entrance hall had debris strewn about.

He looked thoughtful, his mouth working as he stared at the ceiling, then looking directly at me, he said, "It is haunted, that house of yours. Perhaps not literally, but your family clings there. I could not abide it. I shall stay here. Perhaps it seems strange to you, but I find this place comforting."

I nodded, and I did understand. It was true, Leandra and Bethany, long dead, still occupied the estate. Even Carver had a place there in a small shrine in mother's untouched room. It was also, more than I would have wished, a center for my business. Supplicants were likely to show up on the doorstep at any time, many contacts knew to leave messages there, and Aveline and her guard had the uncomfortable habit of arriving at random moments. The ruined mansion was looking more appealing by the moment.

I think I replied, probably something inarticulate like, "Ummarghum…" but that was the last I remember until I awoke, my head on the table. A small pillow had been placed under it and a soft blanket thrown over my shoulders. The burn on my chest was throbbing, competing with the pounding behind my left eye. I could have had Anders heal the burn, but I wanted it both for the scar and the current pain. It was a reminder of how close I had come to not being. I'd dreamed of being Tranquil, cut off the the Fade where I lived while in that dream. Of having awareness, but no will. The memory still with me, I shivered slightly, then opened my eyes, squinting even in the dim light of Fenris' sanctuary.

I pulled myself up, leaning back in the chair and running my fingers through my hair. It was an interesting way to start a new life: naked, wounded, hungover, exhausted, ferociously hungry, painfully lustful and insecure.

Fenris sat across from me, fully dressed, a cup of his herbal tea steaming before him. Seeing me awake, he rose and placed a mug beside me saying, "Drink. It will help the head at least."

I raised it to my lips, inhaling the woodsy scent, and tentatively taking a sip. There was an immediate easing of the ache in my head. I gulped the rest, burning my tongue; a small price to pay for the result. It was a miracle potion and I wondered that I had been able to live all those years without it. Not only did it kill the pain, but my head cleared and my energy returned.

Shaking my head in wonder, I said, "Thank you. I think I may survive now."

He smiled, then stood again. He wore a soft, blood crimson colored tunic that was closely fitted to his narrow chest. Slowly he began unlacing the thong that ran its length diagonally, the eyelets gleaming silver against the rich fabric. He never took his eyes from me as his hands worked, watching for a reaction. I was mesmerized, lightly licking my lips in anticipation.

He shrugged out of the garment, his gaze still on mine. I felt that I should not think so, but the lyrium burned patterns, cupping each curve and accentuating each angle, were beautiful. Danarius had a fine sense of aesthetics despite his many shortcomings.

As he stood there, I could see the tip of his cock peeking from the waistband of his tights. I gasped and allowed my hand to creep under the table. The corners of his lips turned up; he knew exactly what I was doing.

The tights were laced on each side against his hip bones, He freed one side, then the other, bending to pull the legs off before giving me more of the view he knew I desired. When he was naked, he stood before me, completely at ease, his decorated erect penis standing proud and straight. I thought of that one time, so long ago, when I had held it in my mouth and I salivated. I took my time to enjoy the sight of his body as my hand worked happily.

When I stood, he moved to me, holding my head roughly and kissing me with urgency, his tongue darting and insistent. The enthusiasm of my response could not have been greater. Dreams of years coalesced in that moment.

When the kiss had run its course, as such things will despite our most fervent desires that they should never end, he grasped me by the shoulders, the grip tight enough to hurt, and pushed me away the length of his arms. I recognized the movement and put my hands on each side of his neck, my arms slightly bent to accommodate my greater reach, and lowered my head like a bull, pushing into him.

It was a classic wrestlers' stance, one designed to allow evaluation of an opponent's strength before the match began. I had height, weight and reach. He had strength and quickness. It made for an intriguing pairing.

I pushed harder, then let up, throwing him off balance for a moment. As he fell into me, I rushed him, lunging and shoving him toward the wall a few feet behind. He broke the hold and slipped away, but I was committed. I slammed into the wall, the force of my landing jolting through my body. I shook my head and turned, dropping into a crouch.

He was standing calmly, just out of reach, the corner of his mouth turned up in scorn. Careful to give no telltale tensing, I launched myself at him, knocking him to the ground. I had expected to be able to pin his shoulders or hands, but as I landed on top of him, he twisted his legs around me and flipped me onto my stomach. I climbed to hands and knees, growling as he leapt on top of my back. I felt his hot breath on my ear, then he bit, drawing blood.

In that moment all of the tension, years of yearning, released and I gasped. The pent-up desire, now set free, washed over me in wave after wave. My heart was pounding, my body was bathed in sweat, and I could only breath in short panicked gulps.

When I could, I climbed to my feet. Fenris was watching, his head to the side and his expression speculative. "You are too easy, Hawke," he pronounced. It was a well chosen challenge, one that hit home. I wanted him so badly that I had allowed my technique to slip.

I walked toward him slowly. When he was within reach, I grabbed him in a bear hug, lifting him from his feet. As I squeezed, I heard his ribs creaking. In that moment, he shot his hand out and racked three deep furrows in my back. Surprised more than hurt, I dropped him and he danced away.

I stared at him dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open, and I'm sure I looked very stupid. He narrowed his eyes and said, "Did I miss a rule? Is there to be no blood?"

I thought about this for a moment, then shook my head, saying, "Blood is fine. It just surprised me, that's all." I realized that there had been an unspoken rule with my other lovers that we wrestled only, but there was no reason that things should be so between Fenris and me.

He nodded once, solemnly. Holding out a slender arm and examining it, he said, "I would then ask for a rule. Broken bones tend to shorten the play and limit what comes after."

My eyes widened as I considered. That immense strength of his was contained in a rather delicate elven frame, something that I had totally overlooked. I could hug Sven with all my strength for days on end and make no impression, but it would be all too easy to break Fenris' ribs… or arms or legs.

I felt stupid and ashamed, allowing my head to drop in apology. Like the experienced fighter he was, he seized the advantage and pushed me hard against the wall with a hand on my neck. His mouth met mine, his tongue aggressive and needy, probing deep.

My arms encircled him again, but this time I was careful to moderate my strength to the point where I knew it hurt, but there was no real danger. Releasing my neck and, to my regret, my mouth, he reached behind and twisted my thumb. I was thrown, to land heavily face down, amazed and impressed. That was a move I wanted to learn.

He was on me and in me before I could raise myself. It was rough, lubricated only by our sweat. He slapped me smartly, saying, "Rise." I pushed my shoulders up first, then let my hips follow until he was kneeling behind me.

"How strong are you Hawke?" he asked. "Can you wait for what you want until I have what I need, or will you succumb, give in, give up on this dream you've so long held?"

I knew exactly what he meant. I had almost come when he entered me, but I wanted more, so much more. Could my control hold? It was a good question, and not one I had an answer for.

He chuckled quietly. "We shall see, I suppose, but I would be pleased if you are able to restrain yourself. However, tonight, my needs come first."

So saying, he thrust deeper. He had used the interval to add spit to the sweat and slid in easier. Although he was not as large as my former lovers, he knew exactly how to manipulate his long thin organ. He used his hand to hold the tip down just within my opening, and massage that secret place of intense sensation. He played me like he would a fine lute, taking his time, making sure that each string was perfectly plucked. I was groaning and begging, but had somehow maintained that precious control. He reached around and gently caressed my stiff shaft; an exquisite cruelty.

With a grunt, he then began to thrust in earnest, slamming into me, his hand grasping my hips and pulling me strongly toward him. I could feel my orgasm pushing the very limits of my being and thought I was done for, but I bit the inside of my cheek and shook my head hard, looking for that last bit of discipline.

When he came it was glorious. I could feel him within me, feel his joy and his release. I was breathing in great weeping gasps, still trying, with growing desperation, to hold back.

He fell limp onto my bloody back, his hands idly tracing patterns on my arms. The interlude gave me a chance to regroup, regain my will.

As he slid from my back to kneel beside me. I felt his fist in the dimple above my hips, wetting itself in the small pool of sweat that had gathered there. He said, "You impress me, Hawke. But then you always have. Are you sure, now that the time has come?"

Was he insane? Well, yes, very possibly, likely actually. He had wrapped his other arm around my hips, between my cock and my belly, the limb rock hard and unyielding. When I cried out, "Yes! Maker yes!" he did not hesitate, but slammed into me. This time there were no coy fingers. Only his massive strength, and that I was pinned between his two arms, allowed him to force his way in. Despite having been opened by the previous play, I felt like a virgin on my first night, only more so. The breath was knocked from me and I saw stars in front on my eyes.

Primed as I was, where the merest touch could have set me off, I was proud, and am to this day, that I held out until the second stroke. With that thrust however, I came apart. It seemed that my being imploded, to shrink to nothing but that interface between he and I, and then exploded, shattering me. I felt as if I were throwing off more heat than Anders could ever pray for, more light than Fenris' lyrium could possibly provide. Everything that I knew about myself ended and I was reborn. There was simply no more of me left, I was a creature of pleasure and lust fulfilled, replete.

When I came back to myself I was laying face down. I could feel my left hand being gently explored, the pads of the fingers pushed in, released, then pushed again. I raised my head so that I could lay on my cheek, a less nose punishing position, and looked up at him. As cool as ever, Fenris let his green eyes rest on mine and said, "So it begins."


	5. Chapter 5

Those words, "So it begins"… at the time I had no idea what they meant. I thought, romantically, that perhaps they were the harbinger of many lovely hours, even years, together. Or perhaps a simple comment that we had found each other, had finally been allowed what we had both so longed for.

Things were easier for to me. Fenris accepted a co-leadership of our band and not all decisions fell to my discretion. We went after more apostates, but that was a necessary service to the city. That we brought fewer back alive, and those that we did were soon seen hawking wares as Tranquils, troubled me not at all. The money was good and steady, the work not overtaxing since Circle mages had little idea of how to use their talents. Abominations, despite their fearsome appearance and reputation, were weak outside of the fade.

And I had Fenris almost every night. We had developed our atypical lovemaking so that it has become a dance between us, but never one that was boring. Always, he or I would introduce an unexpected element. I was blissfully happy for the first time in my life. As long as there were enemies to kill and Fenris' arm and cock at night, I was content.

Most of the crew were happy with the extra coin we were bringing in. The apostates were less challenging than pursuing bandits or other miscreants who had more experience at fighting. The Templars paid well and on time. I thought that all was well under control until Anders rebelled.

I believe he thought that he had gotten me alone; not easy since Fenris and I were now all but inseparable, but the elf did not often come to Anders' clinic and I was there consulting him about a persistent rash on my foot. He didn't look up from my calloused hoof as he said, "I respect you Hawke, or at least I did, but I can't do it any more."

I was surprised, not sure what he was talking about, although of course I suspected. He continued, "We only go after mages these days. Aveline has offered other work, but we always seem to be too busy tracking down some poor apostate. Too many of them are killed outright, and those we do capture seem to have better than average odds of ending as Tranquils. I know that Fenris has influence over you, and I'm done. I won't say or do anything against you, I just want to return to this clinic and stay out of politics and killing."

I was assessing what his loss would mean, between Anders and Fenris we were an unstoppable force, but it was their balance that lent us the backbone of our strength, when the elf stepped from the shadows. He said in his calm sardonic voice, "You will do no such thing mage."

Anders threw my bare foot from his examining table onto the cold ground and turned in a rage. "Is there no privacy these days? No place you will not spy out and slink into?" he shot at the elf.

Fenris serenely replied, "No."

I pulled on my sock and boot, assuming that my treatment was over for the day, and watched them curiously. Fenris was supremely assured, but Anders was also confident and strong. He said, "You heard me then. I'm through with you. With you running things, driven only my your unreasoning hatred of mages. I won't act against you, but I won't help you any longer."

"Think again, mage," Fenris replied. "It is only our protection that is keeping you free. The Templars could be here in moments and they would dearly love to exhibit you as a Tranquil."

I'm not sure who was more appalled, me or poor Anders. The mage spoke first, however, turning to me as he said, "You… you wouldn't. Not after all that I've done. I've helped you in every way. I've done things that haunt my dreams because they were ordered by you. I am no threat. I won't turn against you. I only want my freedom to do this," he gestured around the clinic. "To help people. To just be myself for a while."

"And to help the cause of mages," Fenris growled. Anders ignored him, and looked to me in supplication.

I felt as helpless as Anders. I couldn't deny the justice of his request, but we needed him. Trying to mitigate the threat, I said, "Anders, we need you. The safety of everyone depends on you. You know how valuable to us you have been."

It was unfortunate that Fenris chose that moment to growl under his breath. Anders turned away, then swung back to me, all but shouting, "He's feral," pointing a stiff finger at Fenris. "He's barely civilized and he has no sense of proportion. And you are cock struck. I'm sorry Hawke, but you have lost all sense of reason or balance." His anger seemed to dissipate as he said, "Please Hawke, be reasonable. Just let me go. I can't continue to hunt people who I think have done nothing that I wouldn't do myself under their circumstances."

I looked to Fenris and his eyes narrowed. "I can't do it Anders," I said, "I'm sorry." And I realized just how sorry I was. Everything that the mage was true, and I was only too aware that I was under the elf's spell, as binding as that of the most powerful Tevinter magister.

Anders shook his golden head sadly, then ignored me, asking Fenris, "You really would, wouldn't you? Have me made Tranquil if I won't help you?" Fenris just smirked. "Very well, I am yours, but watch your back elf."

Fenris responded cooly, "I always do."

As we walked home through the waning light, I asked, "Why?"

The elf turned his head slowly my way and said, "Because if he's with us, we can keep an eye on him and his demon. He has plans, plans that are more than you would credit. I don't have all the evidence, yet, but when I do, you will be the first to know. Until then, it is better than he stay with us than be free and unobserved."

It made sense, or at least I tried to convince myself it did. I knew that Anders, and more, Justice, would not give up the cause of the mages, I just had no idea what they had planned. As long as they were in my sphere of influence, I might be able to mitigate any of their more extreme plots.

Fenris continued, "He calls me wild, but there is nothing more dangerous than a free mage. We are the only check on him and his demon. If we allow him to just wander off on his own, I shudder to think what might happen to this city." He looked at me through his lashes and took a more conciliatory tone, saying, "I'm sorry Hawke. I was probably too brash, but I believe that everything I said is true. We are the only curb on Anders and we can use him to help us, but to just turn him loose would be foolish."

He knew that I could deny him nothing. I took his face in my hands and pushed him up against the damp, grubby wall of the alley. My fingers were already fumbling at the laces on his britches, and I soon had him in hand. Someone of less spirt might have objected to our semi-public location, but Fenris just pulled his pants down further and jumped on me, his arms around my neck and his legs around my hips. I rammed myself into him, the only lubrication what had leaked from my cock in anticipation, but I couldn't wait. My teeth sunk into his neck to keep myself from crying out and he gave only a stoic grunt as our flesh caught and pulled and ripped.

Realizing that I would not get further without help, I spat copiously into my hand and ran it along my shaft before dropping him down on it once again. This time I hit home and we both groaned at our release. I'd just let him down and was rearranging my clothing when a patient of Anders came timidly around the corner. Fenris looked at her disdainfully, his laces still undone as he tucked himself into his tight leggings. She let out a little squeal, then hurried on to the door of the clinic. I wondered if she would report to Anders, and if so, what?

Fenris chuckled deep in his throat and said, "An audience always makes it better, don't you think?" Well, no, I didn't, but if the whole city watched, I would take him when my need was great, and it hardly seemed to subside these days. Already I was thinking of dinner and what would occur later in the evening, although physically I was well spent.


	6. Chapter 6

Anders, true to his word and aware of the gravity of Fenris' threat, stayed with us, although he grew even more morose. I added some bandits to our list of targets to try to appease him, but since we still accepted every contract for apostates, it had little effect. Well, as long as he fought and healed, he could keep his gloomy private thoughts—I was enjoying life more than I had thought possible and each day seemed like a new adventure, each night full of the discovery of hidden recesses of delight.

And we were running out of apostate jobs anyway, there just weren't that many left who were willing to make the hopeless choice to try to flee. Word had gotten around the Circle that we had effectively stopped all those who had braved the Templars and the non-Tranquil mages left were deciding more and more to stay put.

It was one of the last of those jobs that caused a ripple in my perfectly calm pool of pleasure. We were sent after three sisters, the eldest in her early twenties. They had only recently been sent to the Circle and were young and foolish, thinking themselves invincible.

They were easy to track, of course; we had often defeated much more wily prey. We found them hiding behind some refuse deep in a alley, no doubt hoping the foul smell would discourage us. I poked the pile of rotting cabbage, dog shit, the occasional dead dog, a decayed arm, and entire bushel of turnips that looked like they may be salvageable and various other detritus. Finally I heard the expected squeak, and then some colorful swearing in Ferelden sung out in a high, clear voice.

There emerged from the mess the three girl children we were seeking, all blond, all comely, all defiant, the smallest not more than six or seven years old. The oldest walked up to me boldly, shoving her yellow locks out of her eyes and said, "We are not running away." I crossed my arms and did not try to hide my amusement as I eyed her ruffled pink frock—it seemed that they had somehow maintained their clothes or had someone on the outside willing to help them. I suspected the later, and wondered who. The Templars paid even better for those helping mages than for the mages themselves.

Seeing my obvious skepticism, the girl continued, reaching into her bosom for a piece of paper. "We are only going to the Ferelden Circle. See, here is our letter of passage. The ship leaves tonight and once we're back in Ferelden, we'll go right there."

I tightened my mouth and asked, "Do I look like I just fell off the turnip wagon?"

She carefully unfolded another piece of paper, this one much more worn and folded small as if it had been secreted somewhere. "See," she held it out to me, "from Chief Enchanter Irving. He knows we're coming. He'll have his Templars there to meet us when we land. We know that we have to go to a Circle, just please not the one in Kirkwall." She ended with the first bit of humility I had heard from her and she dropped her head and added a final, plaintive, "Please."

I looked at the crew. Isabela actually looked as if she had a tear in her eye and Varric had that sympathetic expression that always seemed silly on his dwarven face. Anders was pleading with sad eyes, but then he always did when we were dealing with apostates. We could afford the small loss of fees and of prestige for finally missing our marks—we had been so consistent that the Templars could hardly complain. I said, "Varric, Isabela, will you undertake to see that they board this ship and stay until it sails?" Their replies were quick and enthusiastic. I shrugged and walked from the alley, feminine cries of thanks echoing behind me.

As I rounded the corner, followed closely by my newly appointed baby sitters, I heard an all too familiar snick sound. I froze and held my breath, unwilling to recognize Fenris as he walked out, wiping his blade on a blue cloth I had given him. Isabela launched herself at him screeching, "Why?" and was thrown back against the opposite wall with enough force that she crumpled to the ground. Anders just covered his eyes and turned away, and Varric looked stunned, speechless for once.

I looked at Fenris for a long moment, then turned away, walking slowly homeward, my head down, defeated.

He found me there, of course. I wasn't trying to hide, and actually I needed the distraction, even if the distraction I got was the cause of the distraction I needed. Fenris knew how to make me forgive him anything, and he was at his best that afternoon. He asked nothing of me, and gave me everything that he knew I liked best until I was laying back on the bed, loose limbed, with an insipid but very happy smile decorating my face.

I knew, though, that I had to face my crew, if I even still had a crew. I drug myself up and dressed, saying, "I'm going to the Hanged Man, see if anyone's there. Want to join me?"

It was a great relief when he shook his head and said, "No. You go ahead. I'll stay in and read tonight." Ever since I'd taught him to read, he had been working his way methodically through my library and was now on the letter G. I wasn't sure if he was reading the book on gnomes or the strange old gynecology text that someone had left, but whatever it was, he would consume every word.

They were all there in the tavern, and I was sure they had been waiting for me to make an appearance. Isabela craned her neck after I came in, trying to make sure Fenris wasn't following, I assumed. There was a collective sigh of relief that no one tried to hide when they realized I was alone. Apparently Varric had been designated their spokesman, and I hadn't even gotten a drink before he started in on me.

Yes, I knew that the girls did not deserve to die, yes I knew that Fenris had disobeyed my direct order, yes I knew everything that they insisted repeating _ad nauseam_ and in ever shriller tones. I just nodded and kept drinking, switching to whiskey after a few pints of ale.

They finally shut up or I stopped listening, I'm not sure which, but just when I thought I was safe, one of them would start again. After one of my many trips that night to the convenience, I stumbled into one of the small alcoves to stood to either side of the bar, rather going back to be badgered further. I slumped in the broken chair that had been discarded there and let my head fall back, staring at the ceiling that was only beginning to spin a bit.

It was a relief to just be alone and I was luxuriating in my solitude when I felt a hand at my groin. Ah, so Fenris had made it after all and found me, clever boy. I was drunk enough that having my cock sucked in the semi-privacy of an abandoned niche in the Hanged Man seemed like a very good idea. I let my head loll, watching the rafters and enjoying the expert attention being paid to my member, when suddenly the soft lips and hot mouth were yanked away. Before I could raise my head I was grabbed by the neck and slammed into the wall.

My bleary eyes were filled with Fenris' outraged face as he slammed me back again. Thankfully, the third time my head hit, I passed out.

I knew where I was before I had fully regained consciousness since there was a peculiar sensation of having been cut off at the knees when waking in Varric's short bed. Yes, it was not the first time that I'd been dragged up the stairs and dumped in the nearest bed, which was the dwarf's.

I opened my eyes and tried to sit up, only to roll over immediately to puke on the floor, missing the bucket waiting for me by half a foot. I heard Varric's groan, echoing my own, as he brought a mop. "I swear Hawke, you have the worst aim in KIrkwall," he complained. "But I'm glad to see you awake."

Well, I was happy that one of us was, because I would have much preferred to still be unconscious. The room was spinning in earnest now, and even closing my eyes didn't help—when I did that I just had a colorful after image of the spinning room that was even more nauseating. I managed to gasp, "Get Anders. I think I'm dying." Normally the mage wouldn't cure hangovers, he had some moralistic thought that those who drank too much would learn from their pain, although he could easily observe that it never worked.

I was surprised at the solemnity in the dwarf's voice as he answered, "Anders is not available. And my not be available, ever. But if he survives, he certainly won't be able to heal anyone else for weeks. What were you two thinking anyway? You know that wolf you keep on a leash is rabid, and not inclined to share his meat."

I managed to prop myself on an elbow after emptying myself again, this time hitting the bucket squarely to Varric's relief. "What do you mean? What in the hell happened anyway? Last thing I remember, Fenris and I were enjoying a little semi-private time, and…"

The damn dwarf was laughing so loudly I thought my head would explode. He he finally gasped to a stop, the said, "That wasn't Fenris playing your flute, lad, that was Anders."

I looked at him in disbelief. Anders? Why would Anders have? Oh yes, whiskey, and, well, he'd always been fond on me. But what could he have been been thinking. Oh yes, whiskey. It was starting to make some sort of sense now… If Fenris came, and apparently he had since I had the image of his angry face permanently burnt into my retina, and if he had found Anders and me, well, like he apparently found us. Oh, poor Anders. He wouldn't have had a chance to use his magic, surprised by an enraged Fenris. And now we were short a mage too. And very possibly a warrior, depending on how successful I was at patching things up. And all I wanted to do was lie down and gracefully die.

I sat the rest of the way up, swaying and holding myself more or less steady with my hands. Fortunately I was still dressed. It was one less thing to deal with and I thought that there were a very small number of things I would be capable of dealing with today.

Varric tried to talk me out of leaving, but I knew I had to find Fenris, and soon. I staggered out of the pub into the bright morning light, then ran for the shade of a corner, again emptying myself, this time ending in the dry heaves. I had to get some water, or I was pretty sure my death wish would be fulfilled. I made my way to a public fountain. Shoving several matrons out of the way, I hung my head under the running water and gulped great quantities from my cupped hands. When the line got long enough that I thought the waiting women might have a chance if they attacked me _en masse_, I left them to their morning chores and made my way up the long long climb to my hightown estate. Isabela was right, it was a silly place to live, much too far to walk hungover. I should just take a room in the hanged man and let Bodahn have the damned mansion. But then the mansion was close to Fenris'. With that thought of the elf, I hurried my steps, weaving dangerously, but determined to make the best time I could.

I went to my place first. I hoped that he might be there, although I suspected that hope was in vain, but I could also take a few moments to throw on some clothes that didn't stink and down one of Bodahn potions. They were not as effective as the ones that Fenris cooked up, but it would be better than noting.

When I got to the estate, the door was hanging half off it's hinges. So he had been here. Bodahn, Sandal and my useless hound were curled up under a heavy desk where they had apparently spent the night. I didn't disturb them, but made my way upstairs to my room.

Well, it used to be my room. Right now it looked rather like a chamber where someone had tried to cage a wild beast. A wild beast with very sharp claws. Carved into the high wainscoting, in deep tall letters was the word BASTARD. The bedposts has been sheared off and dumped to the side, sticking out of the shredded canopy like the bones of some sad, very dead beast. The bedclothes were in tatters and the mattress slit from top to bottom, the stuffing pulled out. The marble fireplace had been chipped in several places, and everything on the mantle smashed. Above it hung a pastoral scene that I was fond of, one bought for me by Fenris. It was still in its frame, but hung in strips.

I was afraid to open the armoire because I knew that he would not have spared by clothes. Taking my courage in hand, I peeked inside and it was as bad as I feared. Nothing was left that could even be repaired. I noticed my jewelry box missing, then remembered some glints in the happily burning fire. Yes, there they were… all of my small but carefully considered collection of gold and silver, melting and dripping off the blazing logs. The only thing that he had spared was the bookcase, and that said a great deal. I didn't often read, the books were there for his pleasure.

Well, changing clothes was not an option, and I didn't really want to deal with a recently terrorized Bodahn, so I let him sleep. Food seemed like a bad idea, but I did pull myself a mug of ale. That helped so much that I had another and had to talk to myself severely to keep from having a third.

Back out into the cursed sunlight, up more steep stairs. I almost fell at the very top, desperately clutching for a non-existent bannister, and finally draping myself awkwardly over a marble plinth. A few passersby gave me a concerned look and a wide birth, shaking their heads that I was so obviously drunk so early in the day. Well, fie on them, I was on a mission.

I didn't bother to knock, the elf never locked his door, although he did lock the wine cellar. I found him easily enough by following the scritch-scritch sound of blade on stone. Poor fellow had apparently dulled his sword destroying my belongings.

I staggered into the room and he held up the blade, saying levelly, "No further. If you have anything to say, say it and leave, but come no further." I kept walking, in my unsteady way, towards him. "I mean it Hawke," he said, "keep coming and I'll kill you, I swear I will." Best offer I had had all day, so I kept walking.

When I was within a few feet of him, he threw down his sword and said, "Festis bei umo canavarum! Say it. Whatever you think there is to be said, then leave me. I am done with you. A mage! Bah."

It was one of the few times in my life when I thought the truth might be the most effective response, even though he probably wouldn't believe me right away, so I just said, "I thought it was you."

Well, maybe that wasn't the best idea. He pulled a knife from his sleeve and held it to my throat, growling, "You… thought… that… that… thing… that demon… that abomination… was ME!"

Looking cross eyed and worried at the blade, I said, "Fenris, I was drunk. Really really drunk. I barely knew which way was up. And yes, I really did think it was you. I would never have allowed Anders to do such a thing, surely you know that. And you seem to have gotten your revenge on both of us, so could we, you know, forget about it?"

"Is the mage dead," he snarled.

"Not so far, I don't think," I replied my mouth twisted half way between horror and amusement.

"A shame," he said. "And now you want to kiss and make up?"

I smiled my goofiest smile and said, "Yes. That's the spirit! Kiss and make up and you can have your way with my poor beaten body… if you let me have some of your phenomenal potion first." I had almost said magic potion, which just might have been fatal in that moment. He grunted, came back with a glass, watched me drink it down, then resumed his threatening position.

He pulled the knife down the side of my throat, making a thin cut, watching me shiver, then tossed it away. He started to rip off my jerkin, but I put a hand on his saying softly, "Fenris, it's the last one I have, so unless you want to go clothes shopping for me?" At this he actually laughed and the tension was broken. I did not think I was forgiven, but I was beginning to think my odds of living out they day were at least even now.

He carefully removed my clothes, then his own, slapping my hands away when I tried to help. When we were both standing naked, he said in a husky voice, "Never. Never again. Not with anyone. I don't care how drunk you are or how drunk they are. If you ever do that to me again, so help me, I will leave, with or without killing you first." He grabbed my hair and pulled me to him, slamming his mouth on mind so hard that our teeth clicked loudly, reaching for the back on my throat with his long tongue. His brands were starting to flare and I rubbed my hands on them, tracing them across his arms, down him back, then cupped his buttocks and lifted him onto me. Fifteen minutes ago I would have sworn that I was incapable of that maneuver, but between Fenris' potion and Fenris' presence, I was a new man.

I carried him to the table where I had spotted a convenient dish of butter. Setting him on the edge so I could rock him back and forth, I scooped up a handful of the soft yellow goo and slathered it on both of us, then drove myself into him. He arched his back and used his hands to drive himself back towards me. We continued shoving at each other until I pulled him down to his feet and dropped to my knees. I wrapped my tongue around the head of his quivering cock, savoring the juices I found there, as may hand worked in the hole I had just opened, massaging vigorously.

He started panting, his breath wheezing in and out. I added my other hand, rolling his balls and running it up the shaft as he grabbed my head and forced it down. When he came, it was so hot I felt that my mouth and throat were scalded, but it was a pain that I would gladly repeat. I fell backwards, pulling him down on top of me. I had not spent, but I didn't care, there would be time for me later, for now, he had forgiven me and that was all that mattered in the world.


End file.
